No Pulse? No Problem
by sherlockedbyben
Summary: A girl with no pulse hurtles through time and space to a destination she doesn't intend on reaching anytime soon, when she meets a man. The catch? He's dead too.


If her heart had still been able to beat, she knew it would have thrummed discordantly as she mulled the predicament over in her mind, and it didn't take her long to land gracefully on the decision that she should toss this stranger out of her dimensionally transcendental diner and speed off in what she hoped was the opposite direction. She had been hell bent on carrying out this fool proof plan until he had gone and told her that he was dead. Now _that_ got Clara's attention.

A fellow deceased soul had made his way into her Tardis. A kindred spirit.

Well she couldn't toss the wretched man out now, could she? Not until she got a few answers out of him at least.

She had been scraping her unruly hair back into a haphazard ponytail when it happened.

Running from blood thirsty humanoids with claws for hands and too many teeth tended to leave your hair quite different from when you first arrive on their home planet, after all. Ashildr had been none too happy, though Clara had endured it with a laugh as she set the coordinates for God knows where- Or should she say _when_ \- knowing that she was living on borrowed time and adamant to take full advantage of it. The pair had begun taking it in turns to decide which places to visit, and Clara was secretly grateful that Ashildr hadn't yet taken her leave. Perhaps it was her guilty conscience that kept her rooted here- after all, it was her bloody tattoo that had gotten them into this mess- but Clara took full responsibility for her own reckless actions.

Her fingers strayed to her wrist almost without her realising it, unsurprised and disheartened when no gentle beat of the blood running through her veins met her fingertips.

She didn't have time to dwell on the fact that she was still stubbornly dead.

"Do you smell burning?" Ashildr's eyebrows were drawn together, her voice tight with tension. "I definitely smell burning."

Clara frowned and wrinkled her nose. Years of travelling with the Doctor had led to her becoming inured to the various troubles and mishaps that liked to associate themselves with Tardises, but she also knew not to ignore them. She hummed when she caught a faint aroma of charred metal wafting towards her and looked around curiously. Nothing. At least no visible sign of anything suspicious. Bright white lights and a thrumming console, circular shapes that appeared to have no particular use lining the walls, nothing out of the ordinary.

She opened her mouth to offer her friend some form of reassurance when a small spark fizzed in her peripheral vision, causing her to clamp her mouth shut and peer over at the interruption.

"Well, you're not wrong," She murmured as she examined a small corner of the wall, intrigued to see that something had been etched into the surface leaving a red hot trail that simmered in the shape of an unfamiliar symbol. She reached a hand out tentatively to touch it despite Ashildr's soft noise of indignation, hissing and drawing her fingers back sharply when the scorch marks singed her skin. The symbol flashed, emitting an ethereal glow. Clara inhaled sharply and leaned back, feeling as if she had meddled with something she shouldn't have.

"Look, Clara," Ashildr pointed, her eyes fixed on the wall where more intricate patterns and symbols of the same kind were now appearing steadily, as if some invisible scripter was scribbling down his notes with a searing pen.

"What's going on?" Clara stumbled backwards as the lights flickered, the listing whirr of the engines dying sending a wash of cold dread seeping through her bones. She didn't like the strained sounds the Tardis was making.

She joined Ashildr at the console, flipping switches and tapping buttons in a way reminiscent of what the Doctor would have done in a situation like this. Of course, it was trying to act like the Doctor that had gotten her killed in the first place. But what did she have to lose? The ship groaned and lurched to the side as if it was inebriated, rendering the task on maintaining their balance all the more arduous.

"No no no no _no_!" Clara growled as the Tardis refused to respond to her desperate instructions. "Bloody box!"

That's when she saw the ghost.

Only it wasn't a ghost. Couldn't have been. At least that's what she told herself. It was an easy misconception to make though, considering the faint image of a man flickered and dissipated so quickly and silently that she would've missed it if she had taken the time to blink. Clara swallowed, releasing a shaky breath.

"Ashildr, did you just see-"

"Yeah. Yeah, I saw."

Understandable fear could be detected in her voice, but Clara was just glad she wasn't going insane. Though the thought of an intruder who appeared to be sucking the life out of the Tardis wasn't exactly a dream situation either.

The man appeared once again, his form maintaining for longer than a split second this time, and Clara held her breath as she stared with wide eyes, unsure what else to do.

The stranger leaned against the wall heavily, his palm pressed to one of the foreign symbols as he wheezed and fought for breath. His eyes were clenched shut, his jaw set.

"About-" He hissed, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. "Bloody time."

Clara blinked, struggling to process what little information she had and manipulate it into the most feasible explanation for what was happening. Ghost man. Speaking English. British accent. Those symbols definitely aren't from Earth though. Bloody hell. Back to square one.

Clara wondered if she should attempt to speak to him. He hadn't seemed to have noticed their presence yet, or maybe he just hadn't bother to acknowledge it. He lurched away from the wall suddenly and Clara gasped, sure he was going to fall but his frame shimmered again before he vanished once more.

Clara's hands were trembling, a cold sweat breaking out across her palms. She wiped them hurriedly on her skirt, trying to compose herself.

She let out a shriek as the stranger materialised again, this time far closer than before. She cast a quick glance at Ashildr who had had the sense to back away and was now pressed against the wall farthest from them. Clara remained rooted to the spot, not because she wanted to, but because she was sure that her muscles were locked into place with industrial cement.

The man panted, steadied himself, and looked for a moment as if he was going to be sick. Clara stared at him. Tall. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Ragged clothes. Looks like he's been through the wars.

She realised with a start that he was staring right back.

She could see the fear in his eyes slowly morph into confusion, his knuckles white as he clutched the console for support. He still looked vaguely faint, but at least he didn't appear as if he was going to spew up the contents of his stomach anytime soon.

He reached out suddenly and grabbed her hand, causing Clara to jump in fright and let out a sharp yelp of surprise. She had almost expected his touch to go right through her, but his grip was unexpectedly strong and firm. He pressed his cold fingers to the inside of her wrist, as if checking her pulse. Clara realised that she was gaping at him in shock. _How did he know?_

"Ah, wonderful," He croaked, his voice strained as if it had been far too long since he had last spoken aloud. "You're circumventing the rules as well then."

Clara snatched her hand back.

"Meaning?" She snapped, disconcerted by his words.

The man didn't answer, instead held a hand to his head and winced.

"Ah," He stretched his neck to one side. "Not good."

Clara looked him up and down and cleared her throat, taking a small step back. Her eyes were fixed on a dark stain blemishing his light shirt right in the centre of his chest.

"Is that blood?" She whispered. The man blinked and looked down at himself with a grimace and a half-hearted shrug. His facial expression was almost resigned.

"Probably."

His image flickered again, and Clara retreated a couple more steps. The man clutched his abdomen and hissed, doubling over. Clara felt a pang of sympathy in her solar plexus.

"Why are you here?" Clara's voice was shaking, and she knew it. She was torn. Part of her wanted to help this man, the other half was warning her to stay away, alarm bells ringing in her head. "What do you want?"

A dark chuckle reached her ears as the man shook his head as if she had touched upon an old inside joke. His eyes crinkled as he grinned humourlessly, straightening up as much as he could manage without too much discomfort and looking at her. He raised an eyebrow almost patronisingly.

"Darling, do I look like I'm in any position to make demands to you?"

Clara bit her lips and folded her arms protectively, considering his words. It was true, he didn't seem to be much of a threat. But that didn't mean she trusted him. Not for one second.

Pain clouded his features for a moment and he almost seemed to fade slightly. Clara tensed.

"What are you?" She demanded fiercely before he could disappear again.

"Dead," The man replied spitefully, his expression darkening and his eyes growing cold. "I'm bloody dead, that's what I am."


End file.
